noted!! then either Aspectabund (letting or being able to let expressive emotion show easily through one’s face and eyes) w/ any ship inside jon/tim/sasha orrrr Eigengrau (“intrinsic grey”; the color seen by the eye in perfect darkness) w/ manuela/karolina!! :D
i was going to do both but i already think i misunderstood the prompt so we’re gonna leave it at one jdfdgf
aspectabund (letting or being able to let expressive emotion show easily through one’s face and eyes) & any combination of jon/tim/sasha
(send me prompts)
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he’s not good at pretending it doesn’t ache when he thinks about them.
paranoia taking one over, leaving him jumpy and wary, eyes bright and alert as they search for the potential danger in the corners of every room, in the crowd of every street, bus stop, shop. the other being entirely replaced, her face wiped from their memory in everything except for the imposter. he doesn’t remember what she looked like. he can’t remember the cadence of her voice, her laugh, the way she smiled at his terrible jokes or anything about her. not really. not honestly.
it’s raining again as he sits on the step out of the staff door to the institute, stares at his phone screen and waits for the lock screen to change to a face he doesn’t remember instead of this one, this fake, the one who stole her and took her and lied.
he feels sick.
behind him, the door opens - the light spills out, illuminates the puddles. tim doesn’t look up.
“oh,” a voice says. small. uncomfortable. “tim, i…”
“don’t,” tim breathes. “just… smoke. i’ll leave.”
there’s silence for a few moments before jon steps down. “you’ve, ah. you’ve been crying.”
his gaze stays fixed on the phone. the picture doesn’t change, and neither does the frozen smile he has in it, the water drops on it smear a little as his hands tremble, shift them around with the gentle shaking that comes from somewhere so deep inside him he can’t trace it.
“you’ve always… your feelings have always, um. been obvious.”
he should look at him. he knows that jon’s heart aches too, that he must miss what they had, must miss her just as much as he does. still, he doesn’t look up, just drops his hand and taps the corner of his phone against the concrete step. “do you think about her?”
he wants to know. he hopes jon does, in a sick and twisted way. he hopes someone else has the pain he does.
“every single day,” jon says, caught off-guard. “she was… you know how i felt.”
“tell me,” tim says, and his voice is hoarse and his throat tight. “please,” and his voice almost cracks on that word, five letters barely able to escape his mouth without his chest tightening and gripping his heart between immovable, unbreakable bones.
jon says nothing. tim digs his nail into the fleshy part of his palm to stop himself screaming, to hold back a sob. “did you really feel anything?”
“of course i did,” jon says, and his voice is thick with things unsaid. when tim glances up, he can read it in the watery sheen of his eyes, the mist of them, the tightness of his jaw. “i loved her. i loved you.”
“so did i,” tim says, “so did i.”
“loved?”
“yeah. loved.”
if the roles were reversed, tim knows, his face would crumple at those words. jon, though, he says nothing, just averts his eyes and turns the lighter over in his hands. he didn’t bother to get the cardboard packet out of his pocket yet. tim hates him for acting at normality, and he bites down hard on the inside of his lip as he gets to his feet, brushes grit off his trousers, and goes back indoors.
the door slams shut behind him. it feels like a death sentence.
